A field of approximately 2,400 boulders, ranging from 30 kilograms to 4 metric tons, occupies a 1.2-hectare site in the Indiana dead zone, 40 kilometers south of the Gary perimeter. The boulders are composed of diabase — an unremarkable ignite rock. When struck with a hammer, they produce clear, sustained musical tones. This phenomenon has been documented in pre-Collapse geological literature and is, by itself, not anomalous. What is anomalous is everything else.

Remove a boulder from the field: it goes silent. It becomes ordinary diabase with ordinary acoustic properties — a dull thud when struck, like any other rock. Return it to the field: it rings again, immediately, as if it remembers how. We have tested this with forty-seven boulders, moving them distances ranging from 10 meters to 200 kilometers. The result is consistent. Inside the field: music. Outside: stone.

The field has a boundary. The boundary does not correspond to any geological feature — no fault line, no change in substrate, no variation in mineral composition, no elevation shift. The boundary is a circle, 62 meters in radius from a center point that contains nothing of interest — a patch of bare earth indistinguishable from the surrounding terrain. The circle is precise. We have mapped it with centimeter-resolution GPS. The boundary does not follow any natural contour. It is geometric. It is a circle drawn on the earth by something that wanted a circle.

When multiple boulders are struck in sequence, the tones harmonize. Not randomly — in structured intervals that trained musicians on our team identify as compositional. The rocks do not produce arbitrary frequencies. They produce music. The field is an instrument, tuned by a process we cannot identify, playable only in a location whose boundaries were drawn by a geometry that geology did not create.